Would You Consider It?
by randomperson5972
Summary: Mybrella! Mycroft attempts to use his influence in the British government to pass legislation that will enable people and inanimate objects to get married-namely, him and his umbrella.


**Author's Note: Mycroft + His Umbrella = Mybrella**

**Reviews welcome! Set sometime between "The Empty Hearse" and "The Sign of Three." **

Would You Consider It?

A Mybrella FanFiction

Mycroft snapped a picture of the act that would legalize same-sex marriage in England and Wales with his smart phone and sent it to Sherlock with a brief message: **Happy Birthday, Sherlock.** He was quite proud of managing to arrange that most of the act's provisions would come into effect on Sherlock's birthday; it had been an exercise of his power that he found worthy. Partly because very, _very _deep down he thought it might be a nice gift for Sherlock, but almost entirely because it was a wonderful way to mock him. Mycroft was slightly surprised, but more so pleased, when he saw that he had nettled Sherlock enough to elicit a reply. Normally he would ignore his older brother's texts, but apparently this time Mycroft had gone too far for Sherlock to take it silently. **You know full well that I am not interested in politics and this act does not affect me in the slightest. Any speculations you have about me in that regard are completely unfounded and will only embarrass you.**

_Embarrass _me,_ Sherlock? _thought Mycroft. With a smug and lofty grin on his face, Mycroft typed up his own reply: **You're not fooling me, little brother.** As he found himself in the unique position of being the only person able to tease Sherlock about this, Mycroft felt it was his obligation—no, his _duty— _to do so. He reached down next to his chair to stroke the handle of his umbrella gently. The gold engagement ring he wore clinked against one of the ridges in the wood. Mycroft had bought the ring shortly after the act that now lay in front of him had been proposed as a bill, as a promise, a promise to the love of his life that as soon as his plan was carried out, a plan that started with the same sex couples act, they would make their relationship a binding and respected agreement.

"Everything is going just swimmingly, Ella," Mycroft said softly to his umbrella, lifting it up and bringing it closer to his face to gaze at adoringly, its folded brim resting under the crook of his arm. The pet name had been around for a while now, and Mycroft wasn't quite sure when he had come up with it, but it seemed fitting and personal for the umbrella that was so elegant and elementary to his life.

His phone lit up with the arrival of another text from Sherlock—an angry selfie, apparently to express his feelings about Mycroft's attitude. Mycroft smirked and responded with **Cute. I saw an otter make a face just like that once. Does John like otters?**

If Sherlock had resorted to angry selfies after the previous text, Mycroft didn't expect him to even try and refute this one. So, instead of waiting for one, Mycroft gently lifted Ella, picked up the protective frame with the act, and stood up, walking to the door of one of his many offices. He knocked once, with the hand holding the official government act, rather than the one with his precious umbrella, of course, and Anthea opened it.

"Anthea, I'll need you to return this to its proper place," he said.

"May I ask why you needed to see it, sir?" She paused in her own, entirely work-related texting to look up at him, eyes gliding over the umbrella. Anthea was the only person who knew, and she was to be trusted. Someone in her line of work had to be able to keep secrets, both those of the inner workings of her government and those of her boss's personal affairs.

"You may, and just did," said Mycroft, slightly irritated. Then he relaxed a little. Anthea was alright, really, she wasn't as annoying as most ordinary people and actually quite intelligent, all things considered. More importantly, she didn't impose her inferior intelligence on him by…what was the word…_chatting_ unnecessarily, and she was very accepting of him and Ella. That was important.

"Just a little something for my brother," said Mycroft. "A little birthday cheer."

She looked at him with a slight frown. Then, "Oh yes, I met him once. Didn't seem like the cheery sort."

"About as much as myself," said Mycroft.

Anthea smiled and put her phone away to better hold the frame. "I'll see that this is attended to."

"Thank you," said Mycroft. He opened the door to his office and stepped inside again. Once Anthea's footsteps had made it down the hall, he lifted the umbrella up in front of him with both hands and started to circle around in a sort of off-balance waltz.

"Oh, Ella," he sighed. "This new act coming into effect is good news for us. With its passage, the British masses and members of Parliament will understand that marriage doesn't always have to be between a man and a woman…and soon I can propose a bill about letting couples like us get married!" He moved the umbrella forward and backward a little, to make it appear as if it might be nodding. Mycroft felt joy welling up inside him, rather like he did whenever he saw Sherlock's face tense with rage at something he had said or when he and Ella had spent a long day dancing and holding off the rain together. Yes, things _were_ going just swimmingly.

* * *

About a month later, it actually was raining, and Mycroft was holding his umbrella aloft above his head to keep it off him. He knew Ella didn't mind, she had been made for the rain, besides being made for him. It was one of the many reasons Mycroft knew they were perfect for each other—Ella had been custom built for him in a specialty shop here in London.

Stepping up to the door marked 221B on Baker Street, he didn't even bother to use the knocker, using one of his many master keys instead. Sherlock would mind, of course, but one of Mycroft's purposes in life, besides orchestrating the doings of the British government and giving meaning to his umbrella's existence, was to bother Sherlock.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Hudson, who happened to be coming out of her kitchen and into the entryway when Mycroft stepped in, carefully shaking his umbrella out in the door way before wrapping its strip of black material around the body to keep it closed. "Mr. Holmes…Sherlock and John are upstairs. Lucky to catch them both at once, isn't it? John isn't always here anymore. Do they know you're coming?"

"No," said Mycroft shortly, having no need for her small talk. He began mounting the stairs, and as his breath shortened he resolved to actually start using that treadmill he'd had moved into one of his offices sometime soon. When he'd arrived up at the entrance to Sherlock's flat, he saw his younger brother with his palms together under his chin as he sat in his customary chair, eyes fixed on something moving around in the kitchen. Mycroft stepped over the threshold and leaned over to see that John was there making tea.

Sherlock's eyes didn't blink or flicker away. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Oh, Mycroft!" said John, just noticing him. "How are you?"

"Fairly well. Yourself, Doctor Watson?"

"Oh, you know. Things are pretty good for me and Mary, and Sherlock seems to be having no trouble finding cases."

Sherlock finally shifted his gaze, now that John had moved into the room. Mycroft had been here barely a few seconds and was already exasperated. Sherlock's pupils were practically pinpricks when fixed on John, who was now standing by his chair and handing him a cup of tea. Sherlock accepted it without thanks, but his hand reached slightly further than necessary to take the cup and nearly brushed John's. The doctor, however, was completely unaware and now looking back at Mycroft with slight confusion, as if wondering why he was here.

Mycroft seated himself on the couch opposite the pair, and laid the umbrella against it.

"London's terror alert hasn't been raised to critical again, has it?" asked Sherlock in a bored voice. "I would have hoped to have noticed _something_."

"Oh no, everything's fine at the office," said Mycroft with a smile. "I'm just dealing with a little of domestic policy now, you wouldn't be interested."

"Quite right," said Sherlock, sipping his tea and looking up at the ceiling. It was pathetic. _Pull yourself together_, Mycroft wanted to sneer. Since when had Sherlock become so dull and predictable? The man was clearly smitten and his body traitorously bad at hiding it. Mycroft figured John must really be a goldfish to have not noticed it by now. His former flatmate wore certain clothes around him as if to impress him, combed his hair more often, and his face seemed to light up like Bonfire Night whenever John walked into the same room as him or spoke to him.

"I heard there was going to be a wedding," said Mycroft, addressing John. Just as he had earlier when John referred to himself and Mary as a couple and Sherlock separately, Sherlock stiffened noticeably. Admittedly, it was probably noticeable only to Mycroft, who was used to reading into his brother's body language and happened to be looking for that sort of thing at the moment.

"Yep, Mary and I were thinking some time in May," John answered, smiling. "You wouldn't know if you'd be free…?"

There was definite worry in his voice. However he might be related to Sherlock, John clearly did not want Mycroft at his wedding, as if the older Holmes brother wanted to be there.

"Oh no, I'm sure I'll be quite busy," said Mycroft reassuringly, smiling.

John frowned at his tone. "I didn't mean—"

"Why _are_ you here, Mycroft?" cut in Sherlock, a crease on the bridge of his nose and his eyes narrowing aggressively.

"Oh, you know, just thought it was time for a friendly visit." Mycroft's hand went to his umbrella, more out of habit than anything, and he began to twist it back and forth in a circle.

"Hm," Sherlock scoffed. His hands finally came apart and he gripped the arms of his chair with them, scrutinizing Mycroft. There was a lengthy pause in which no one spoke and John looked rather awkward, his gaze shifting between the two brothers.

"You're _pleased_," said Sherlock finally. "Something's happening at the office that's made you _happy_…." His tone was slightly puzzled, as if he wouldn't have expected this. Surely it couldn't be that ridiculous marriage bill, and Mycroft usually didn't have much personal opinion in politics, except for when it came down to simple reason and he was exasperated with the ordinary politicians for being thick. Sherlock's eyes swiped over him, taking in his appearance and a string of deductions flying past in his mind. Suddenly, his thoughts were directed towards the umbrella. What _was_ it with that umbrella? Mycroft had long had a strange partiality to them, but Sherlock had never seen him with a single umbrella so long, and he _did_ seem to always have it with him…and then there was the gentle caress he was now placing along its handle, clearly subconsciously, for from his face Sherlock could tell Mycroft certainly wasn't thinking about this action. And the hand was wearing a ring….

Yes, there seemed to be something between Mycroft and this umbrella…but what exactly _was_ it? Sherlock would need to observe his brother more closely in this matter to be sure of his suspicion.

* * *

Mycroft shuffled his notes inconspicuously. He rarely prepared notes for when he had to address his fellows in the House of Lords, his memory was so near perfect that he didn't need them. However, today, for the first time in many, many years, Mycroft was nervous. His left hand was gripped reassuringly around the folded material of his umbrella for comfort, and he was starting to sweat.

He had, however, prepared for this day with more than just notes. His influence went far beyond a single seat in the House of Lords, after all. Interns and personal assistants had received anonymous correspondence from him, informing them that if they did not encourage and convince the parliament members they worked for to support the new marriage bill that was soon to appear in parliament, their careers in politics would be all but over. Other parliament members had been informed that incriminating evidence regarding their sordid lives before politics, criminal records, and the evidence of their many, many affairs would be made public, should they not vote in favor of the marriage bill. So many, many affairs…Mycroft could understand them growing bored with their human partners, but why on Earth did they feel as if some other person could be any more exciting? It wasn't as if they were umbrellas. The petty relationships of ordinary people were unfathomable to him.

"My dear fellow Lords and Baronesses," said Mycroft, his voice pompous, despite his carefully concealed feelings of discomfort. "I am here today to propose a new bill regarding marriage in our nation."

There were questioning looks from many of the men and women seated there. They had just _passed _a marriage bill, and they were unfamiliar with this man…he had been introduced by the presiding baroness, but many of them had not recognized him. Those who did regarded him as somewhat mysterious, and had never heard him comment on a social issue before. Still others, however, realized that _this_ must be the bill they had been threatened about, and their heart rates quicken slightly in consternation.

Mycroft gazed around at the grand room, with hundreds of puzzled and scared faces looking back at him. He took a shallow breath, then began to read the very long, very formal title that he had given his bill. Hidden within phrases such as "couples consisting of a British citizen and an insentient entity" and "consular functions in relationship to marriage" was the meaning of the bill, that people should be able to legally wed inanimate objects. Mycroft hoped he had been cryptic enough for the ordinary parliament members to not question it.

People began to nudge each other and whisper. Was this man—this "Mycroft Holmes" person—proposing a bill that would allow people to marry…things?

A short time later, Mycroft had concluded the formalities of the first reading. Looking up at the crowd, he said "My dear fellow Lords and Baronesses…would you consider it?" His hold upon Ella was tighter than ever, as if it was his lifeline as he watched the room for promising signs.

A man near the front eyed Mycroft carefully. From the moment he had taken the podium, he had noticed how this man was carrying an umbrella, though it was a strangely dry day today in London. It was odd that this Holmes man had brought the umbrella, and then that he hadn't left it in his office or some other place—it seemed even stranger that he would take it up with him to speak. All around the room, people were starting to ask themselves the same thing—what was this all about? _Did that man want to marry an umbrella_?

Right at that moment, Anthea opened the door, many heads turning in the direction of the noise. She looked around, seeming very nervous, and then crossed the room to Mycroft in quick strides with her head down. Mycroft tightened his grip around the umbrella even tighter, if it was possible, thinking _Not now, Anthea!_

"Mr. Holmes," she whispered when she reached him. "There's an emergency at your office. You'll want to come quickly."

* * *

"Sherlock, what are we doing at the Palace of Westminster?" asked John.

"It's all for a case, John!" said Sherlock, rubbing his hands together.

"Well, when are you going to tell me _what _case?"

Sherlock looked sideways at his friend, deciding it was finally time he revealed some of his thoughts to him. "It's about my brother. You know that umbrella he always carries around?"

"Yeah…," said John slowly.

"But _why_ does he always carry it around, John?"

"I don't know…it rains a lot in London, Sherlock."

"That may be," said Sherlock, striding towards the building, and John hurrying to keep up with him. "But he still has it with him an unreasonable amount of time. Mycroft will have that umbrella when it's sunny or wet, he brings it with him everywhere, and he's started a habit of stroking it subconsciously."

John frowned. "Sherlock, what are you even talking about?"

"I think my brother's in love with an umbrella, John."

John stopped walking. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, or ask Sherlock if he was feeling alright, or just run away while he still could. "Wha…" he tried. Sherlock had stopped walking, and was looking back at him over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "That's _another_ phrase you don't hear everyday," was all John could say.

Walking up to Sherlock again, he added "But what does that have to do with the Palace of Westminster? Why are we here?"

"Mycroft works here," said Sherlock.

"Here?"

"And in a lot of other government buildings besides. But we're here to steal the umbrella and see how he reacts, or, alternatively, to see if there's anything in his office that explains what's going on."

"What?"

"We're here to get into Mycroft's office and see what's going on between him and his umbrella, or to steal the umbrella and hide it from him."

"But…" Again, John was at a loss for words.

After a few moments, Sherlock seemed to deflate a little at his silence. "Don't you want to know how we're going to break in?"

"Sherlock!" John whispered it as loud as he dared, sound traveling very well in the woodened paneled hallway lined with expensive-looking oil portraits. "Sherlock, slow down!"

Sherlock paused only briefly ahead, barely looking back.

"Exactly _how_ did we get past those guards back there?"

"Oh, come on John," said Sherlock. "I drew national attention as a consulting detective and with all that business with Moriarty framing me, and then I appeared to publicly commit suicide. Then I travelled around to world disabling Moriarty's network and appeared back in the country to save Parliament from getting blown up by terrorists. You think the government doesn't know about me and recognize that I've done them more than one large favor?"

John stared at him.

"Plus, I still pickpocket Lestrade when he's annoying." Sherlock turned around and kept walking, seemingly unconcerned about being inside a supposedly high-security government building without an excuse or disguise.

"But how'd I get in?" demanded John. He was extremely disturbed by how easy penetrating the House of Parliament seemed to be.

"You're with me," said Sherlock simply. "Mycroft's office should be…that one. Or that's one of his offices, anyway."

"Wait, he has multiple offices?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, frowning at John as if this were obvious.

"And you want us to break into _every one of them_ to find evidence of some sort of love affair with an umbrella?"

"Yes," said Sherlock again, stepping up to the door he had indicated.

"This is…mad," said John, looking around in terror. Whether this was because of their exposed position or the alarming behavior of his friend was unclear.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was going to work on the office door lock with an untwisted paper clip he had just pulled out from his coat. John bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, looking up and down each side of the hall nervously.

"Honestly, John, if anyone were coming, we would _hear_ them," said Sherlock impatiently. "There." He pushed the door open, and stepped in confidently, flicking on the light switch nonchalantly. John followed in his wake, and hastened to close the door behind them.

"So…what exactly are we looking for?" asked John.

"First, the umbrella," said Sherlock. "Although I don't think it's likely that'll be here, he normally keeps it on his person. If Mycroft isn't here, the umbrella isn't likely to be."

"Okay…" said John. He just stood in the same place, while Sherlock began to sweep around to room. It was paneled with dark wood, with an expensive-looking rug on the floor and an expensive-looking oil portrait behind the desk. Books lined the shelves on the walls, but everything was extremely neat and orderly throughout the room. John had a feeling that if they disturbed anything, Mycroft would know.

Sherlock was running his hands along the book shelves, feeling in cracks, and staring at the furniture, his eyes narrowed. John had seen him behave this way many times before, and knew when his friend was busy inspecting an area to make deductions. He pulled out his adjustable magnifying glass and started to inspect the chair behind the desk. John had no idea what Sherlock expected him to see there but let him get on with it.

"Hm," said Sherlock.

"What?" asked John.

"Oh John, come look at this." He was holding a picture frame, and John crossed the small room to come see what was inside of it. Mycroft wasn't likely to have any pictures of himself with Sherlock, was he?

When John saw the photograph of Mycroft posing with his umbrella, looking at it adoringly as if were about to place a kiss on its handle, all he could do was stare, his brow thoroughly creased, eyes wide and mouth clamped shut. Sherlock snorted, looking between his friend's face and the picture.

"Who _took _this?" exclaimed John.

It was about then that the security alarm went off and a security camera sprouted out of a potted plant in the corner, focusing in on them and flashing a red light.

_"Sheeeerrrrlllloooock_," John groaned.

* * *

Mycroft flew down the corridors of the palace, his dress shoes slapping against the floors loudly and Anthea kicking off her high heels to follow him. "Sir?" she called as she started running.

When the reached the wing with Mycroft's office, loud alarms were sounding, and Mycroft was starting to get worried. He'd left his laptop in his office! His laptop with half the secrets of the nation on it! Sure, it was password protected by twelve different phrases that had to be entered under a time limit, but still! And—he shuttered to think of it—the picture of him and Ella was in there. Why had he had that printed and left it on his desk? It had been too risky. Obviously, any acts of sentiment were a weakness. In the future, he would have to make sure he was never that careless.

"Why weren't you guarding my office?" snapped Mycroft.

Anthea looked at him in surprise. She'd never been asked to do that before, normally there was plenty of security protecting it even if there were no guards there unless they were summoned.

At Mycroft's office, men in full-body, black clothing greeted Mycroft and Anthea grimly.

"What is going on here?" shouted Mycroft.

"We found these two men breaking into your office, sir," said one of the guards, gesturing inside. Mycroft brushed past him and entered. His gaze fell upon Sherlock and John, we were being held by two guards each, one on each of their sides.

Mycroft swelled with anger. "SHERLOCK! WHAT WERE YOU DOING HERE UNAUTHORIZED? I was in an important government meeting, and—" He stopped in horror when he noticed the picture frame that was sitting face-down on his desk.

He raised his umbrella, pointing it at Sherlock, and then, realizing what he was doing, hastened to bring it back down and hide it from view behind his back. "Did you—did you see—"

"Your little decoration?" offered Sherlock, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Mycroft swallowed.

Sherlock could barely contain his glee. "Why, _Mycroft_…."

**Author's Note: And that's it! I just want to make it clear that I am NOT in any way comparing gay marriage to marriage to inanimate objects. I really hope I didn't offend anyone! Also, just something interesting, the act I talk about in here started allowing same-sex couples in England and Wales to get married on March 29, 2014. **


End file.
